It only seems right that I would close out the year with a final love note to you. And I want to say “thank you” for the cradle and crucible of the days.
For there has been delight in both. I’m just now beginning to see it.
Yes, delight. The word I closed my eyes and picked out of a soul’s basket of longing. A word that followed steadfast as a quiet theme, sounding board, notebook. Delight seemed a lovely next step.
Psalm 63 says, “Your steadfast love is better than life, so I will delight in You.”
What I didn’t know a year ago was what you, 2020, would teach me about delight’s depth.
In January, I wrote: “Delight means to savor like a fine wine, to favor, to celebrate. Delight sparks joy. Delight begets delight. ‘Make God the utmost delight and pleasure of your life, and He will provide for you what you desire the most.’ That’s Psalm 37:4. He is steadfast, so I can be steadfast. He delights in me, so I can delight in Him—and in the woman He has made in His image and likeness.”
But we’ve walked a road, haven’t we, 2020? We’ve said too many goodbyes, and we’ve cradled those we love as they bend in grief. We’ve wept for people we don’t know but somehow feel a kinship to because of a pandemic that has grafted us all into the same tree of tender frailty and wonder. We’ve been faced with questions that slice through what we believe to be true about who we are and who we see in others. We’ve faced the idols we’ve crafted in seasons of comfort, and been pinched by the spectre of scarcity. We’ve placed big plans and big dreams at the feet of a God we’ve realized we are still learning to trust.
And in it all, you have whispered these words over and over again to me.
“Delight isn’t simply something you receive. It is something you are empowered to give.”
In January, I wrote that I wanted to be like Saint Marguerite Bourgeoys, delighting in finding the place that connects our passion with the world’s need—even if it means we step onto uncharted paths. And now, in December, I see that you, 2020, were that path all along. You were the invitation. You were God’s own welcome. You were the tenderness of a cradle that rocked us and sang a lullaby in every story we saw of someone’s generosity or sacrifice. You were the atoning crucible as we looked at ourselves in the mirror and asked, “What really matters in this life?”
And you revealed that delight isn’t a possession. It’s a gift. I wish you could stay just a bit longer. I’m still learning, 2020. I’m still learning to give.
What has 2020 taught you? I’d love to know. And I’d love to know how I may pray for you right now. We’re in this together.
Oh, and if you’d like to read what I wrote about my 2020 word of the year so many months ago, here’s the link.